


For a Second

by PaintedMirror



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Post Season 1, Season 1 Spoilers, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedMirror/pseuds/PaintedMirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the tragedies of season 1, Roman can't get one person in particular out of his head: Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Second

Peter was gone. Probably a thousand miles down the highway to hell in that piece of shit car his mother owned. Hemlock Grove wouldn’t even be a crimson dot in their rearview mirror.

And Roman couldn’t blame him.

Things were pretty fucked up. Shelley was gone. Letha was dead. He had murdered his mother. And he was a vampire. A fucking vampire.

And Peter was a gypsy.

Gypsies ran. He knew that. He had known that from the beginning. But he expected Peter to stick around for him. They were close, closer than Roman ever thought he could be to a Gypsy.

But Peter had still left.

Roman could blame him, he decided. He could blame everything on him if he wanted to. The town would believe a Godfrey over a Rumancek any day of the week.

But Roman didn’t have it in him.

He missed his sister. And his cousin. And - fuck it - he missed his mother too, in a way. But most of all he missed Peter. It had been a pretty fucked up couple of months, but through it all Peter had been there. Even when he backed out, even when he didn’t want anything to do with a Godfrey, Peter came back.

Peter always came back.

Roman stared at his ceiling, one arm behind his head, the other hanging limply over the edge of the mattress. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the glint of white skin on his already-too-pale complexion. The scar that traveled all the way up his forearm until it disappeared underneath his rolled up sleeve.

It was what killed him. And what gave him life again. He had felt power rushing through his veins once he woke up after taking a razor blade to his forearms. And a hunger that could never quite be quenched. Killing his own mother had sent a strength through his body he had never felt before. But it hadn’t lasted long.

Now it seemed like during every second of every minute of every hour he felt that hunger. It was like nothing else he had ever experienced. It wasn’t a pain in his gut. It was deeper than that. It reached all the way inside him and gripped its iron fist around his spine.

He wished Peter were here to help him figure out how to control the beast inside him.

Shit.

Roman turned over onto his side, drawing a digit up and down the scar on his arm, feeling the roughness of the mark on the tip of his finger, but not even feeling the pressure on his arm. Scars were strange that way. They were a part of the body, and yet something else. Not quite alive, not quite dead. There, but unfeeling. Like him.

The door creaked open behind him and Roman lay as still as possible. He hadn’t so much as spoken to any of the servants in the days following his mother’s funeral. Most of them had left. A few stayed. The ones that could look past the strangeness of the Godfrey family because the pay was good. Roman hated them the most.

So he lay there, feigning sleep. Sometimes the servants brought him food he never ate. Sometimes they just came to check on him, probably to see if he was still alive, to see if they still had a master to serve. He exaggerated his breaths so they would leave him alone, fidgeting as if he was just dreaming.

“Is that supposed to be convincing?”

Roman’s body jerked so fast he nearly fell off the bed. He whipped around, planting his feet on the floor, gripping the mattress in his hands until his knuckles turned the color of his scars.

Peter was standing there, in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked pissed. His arms were crossed, with one leg slightly in front of the other like he was unsure if he wanted to finish walking into the room.

If Roman had a pulse, it would’ve been pounding. Still, he felt a hum through his body, as if the blood inside him was flowing just a little bit faster.

“You cut off your hair.”

It was a stupid thing to say. Roman wanted to take it back, but didn’t. He clamped his mouth shut, nearly biting off his tongue like he had bitten off his mother’s. He wanted to know. Peter’s hair was a part of him. And now that it was gone, Roman wasn’t sure he was looking at the same person.

“Wanted to start over. Be someone new.”

Roman understood. Peter loved Letha nearly as much as Roman had. Losing her was the last straw. After everything that happened to Peter, to both of them, that was the thing that finally drove him out of Hemlock Grove.

Roman understood. But it didn’t explain why he was standing in his bedroom, looking like that.

“Why’d you come back?”

Peter shrugged.

“Fuck you,” Roman said.

“What?”

“You left,” Roman said. “Fuck you.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Roman stood up now. The strength inside him quickly grew to a red-hot anger that he couldn’t control, didn’t want to control.

“Stay here. With me. I lost her too, you know. She was my family, not yours. She died, and my mother died, and you left. I don’t have anybody. So, fuck you.”

“You want me to leave?” Peter asked, dropping his arms and taking a step back. It was a threat.

Roman panicked. He wanted to yell at Peter, punch him, tear at his flesh and watch the wolf appear from underneath. But he wanted him to stay. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. So he deflected.

“Why’d you come back?”

“I don’t know.”

Peter just narrowed his eyes at him, trying to control his shaking body. Part of him wanted to hurl a table at the bastard. The other part wanted to sprint across the room and wrap his arms around him.

“Mom didn’t want to,” said Peter. “She dropped me off on the side of the road and kept going. I walked back.”

“You walked back? How far out were you?”

“A ways.”

Roman took a closer look at Peter’s appearance. His coat was stained with dirt and sweat. His shoes were torn, his feet bleeding. It was almost a good thing that Peter no longer had his hair to show how poorly he had taken care of himself in the last few days. Almost.

“Hungry?”

“Ate before I came up.”

“Road kill?”

The crease of a smile lit up Peter’s face, and Roman felt a tiny _ping_ of normality. For a second, Shelley was downstairs, Letha was at home, and his mother was off to who knows where. For a second, it was just him and Peter, like old times. For a second.

“So your mother’s dead, huh? You have any hand in that?”

Roman shrugged. He didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to tell Peter of all people everything that he had learned in the last couple of days. But it all came tumbling out anyway.

“You knew it all along, but I guess I finally figured it out.” He held out his arms so Peter could see the scars. “Fucking vampire.”

“There are worse things.”

“Are there?”

“No,” said Peter, laughing. Roman joined in, unable to help himself. Just like old times. Roman sunk back down onto the bed and Peter crossed the room to join him. They both stared at the floor for a moment.

The baby cried from the other room, shattering the silence, and Peter’s head snapped to attention. One of the servants ran up the stairs and into the nursery to quiet it. Roman hadn’t been paying much attention to it. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t.

The humor was gone from both of them now, and Roman vomited the words out of his mouth again, despite his best effort to keep those darker secrets hidden. But Peter had always had this effect on him.

“It’s mine,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat, his voice cracking. He cleared it and tried again. “It’s mine. Letha’s baby. It’s mine.”

Roman felt Peter tense beside him. He rushed on before Peter got the wrong idea. He couldn’t let him walk out again. Not without knowing the whole story.

“Fucking Olivia orchestrated it all. Took my memories away. Didn’t tell me who I was. She knew all along, and she didn’t say anything. She wanted me to kill it, to kill Letha’s baby. And I couldn’t. So I ripped my mother’s tongue out instead.”

Peter made a sound that was caught halfway between surprise and approval. The bed shifted as he relaxed, and Roman couldn’t help but notice for the first time how close they were sitting. And how it just wasn’t close enough.

“Why’d you come back, Peter?” Roman didn’t even bother trying to control the desperation in his voice. The relief.

“Figured Olivia was a shit replacement for me. She wasn’t going to keep you out of trouble.”

“And now she’s dead.”

“And now she’s dead.”

“Do you hate me?” asked Roman. He didn’t know why he asked it. The truth would hurt, and anything other than that would be a blatant lie.

“Yeah,” said Peter, sounding far away. “Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

“And the other times I don’t.”

Roman was never very good at subtlety. Whatever he wanted, he got. And he was never quiet about what he wanted. So when he grabbed Peter’s face and kissed him, he did it on a whim, not knowing what it would accomplish, but knowing that it was what he wanted.

Peter jerked back, and Roman saw the shock and confusion on his face. He could just about see the stream of consciousness under his skin too. Roman, Letha, baby, Olivia, vampire, fucking vampire. The words moved like blood through veins. For a second they were there, and then they were gone.

When Peter leaned forward to kiss Roman back, it wasn’t soft and gentle and kind. It was rough and sloppy and manic. Peter pushed Roman down on the bed and climbed on top of him, raking his hands up his chest and down the length of his arms, pinning down his wrists.

Peter was strong. But Roman was stronger now.

He hooked his leg around Peter’s body and pushed up, shoving one hand away and dragging the other toward him. Without disconnecting, without breaking the kiss, Roman rolled on top, and Peter was the one who was pinned beneath him.

Roman smiled and felt Peter do the same.

Roman leaned back, not letting go of Peter’s wrists, but sitting down hard, cock against cock. Peter’s eyes widened, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. Roman smiled, could feel the feverish grin on his face grow hot and terrifying. But Peter never looked away.

One final thought raced its way through Roman’s brain. The thought that Peter was here, underneath him, that he came back for whatever reason that didn’t matter. Because it really didn’t matter, he decided. The only thing that was important was the fact that Peter was here now.

Peter always came back.

Roman let go of Peter’s hands. Both of them grappled with the clothes of the other. Peter pulled at Roman’s shirt, popping the buttons off and sending them skittering across the floor. His wife-beater was up and over his head before he realized the button up was gone.

For Roman’s part, he wanted Peter to feel each layer of clothing as it came off. He peeled the jacket from his shoulders and tossed it to the floor, hearing more buttons clatter away following the rush of wind that chased it.

Then there was Peter’s shirt, dirty and smelling like musk. Roman slid his hands up Peter’s chest, dragging the shirt with them. The trail of hair leading to Peter’s pants was enticing, but there would be time for that.

Instead, Roman dragged his lips up Peter’s chest, paying special attention to the way Peter’s breath hitched the closer he got to his neck.

So, he was afraid.

When Peter’s arms were finally free of his shirt, he grabbed the belt on Roman’s pants and tugged it open, not bothering to be careful about where he touched Roman or for how long.

It was Roman’s turn for his breath to hitch, for his hands to fumble as he undid Peter’s belt. Peter’s jeans were growing tighter the more time Roman allowed him to get hard. And when they finally tugged down each other’s pants, it was such a relief that they both moaned into each other’s mouths.

Two pairs of pants were flung to the floor. Roman was still on top of Peter, hands pressed into his chest. Peter’s hands were on Roman’s hips, helping him move back and forth. Just two thin pieces of cotton were separating them from what they both wanted.

And Roman decided to get exactly what he wanted. The time for patience was gone. Now it was time to take Peter hard and fast, with no regrets.

Roman pushed back and pulled down Peter’s underwear. His cock bobbed free and Roman felt that hum inside him again. The physiological aspects of his condition were still unknown to him, but he knew he was hard, and that was all that mattered.

Roman let Peter tug down his underwear and both pairs flew to the floor with the pants. Now they were both free. Roman could see the wolf inside of Peter scratching to get out. His nails dug into Roman’s hips, sending a shock of pleasure to every nerve in his body.

Roman smashed his lips against Peter’s one last time, savoring the salt that lingered there. Then he sat back and pushed Peter onto his stomach. His ass was small and round and firm. Roman had seen it before, but not this close. It had never been within reach like this.

Peter tried to push himself up, to get ready, but Roman held his head in place with a single hand. They were in his house, in his room, in his bed. This was on his terms.

Roman wanted to grab a fistful of Peter’s hair, but that was no longer an option. Instead, he licked one hand and rubbed it across his dick, then grabbed Peter’s shoulder with the other. Without so much as a warning, Roman was inside of Peter, stuffed all the way in, right up to the base of his cock.

The sound that came out of Peter was animal. It was caught halfway between pleasure and pain. Roman could actually feel himself growing inside of Peter with each moan, with each gasp of breath.

“Fuck,” Peter said.

“Fuck,” Roman repeated.

Roman never planned on doing this slowly, and his body was more than happy to comply. This was supposed to be fast and rabid and without any inhibitions. It was a primal need that Roman had. A need he was more than happy to fulfill.

Roman pulled Peter up until he was on his hands and knees. The way Peter leaned into him, dipping his back, moaning in pleasure as Roman pushed forward, made him think Peter had done this before. Maybe he was just a natural. Roman didn’t honestly care.

Roman leaned forward, pushing himself deeper and pounding Peter harder. He grabbed Peter’s dick and began jerking him off as fast and hard as he could. Sweat dripped down Roman’s chest and joined the sweat on Peter’s back.

The springs in the bed were loud as they squeaked with each forward motion, but Roman and Peter’s moans and grunts were louder. They drowned out the sound of everything in the house, everything in the world.

And just when Roman didn’t think he could take it any longer, just when he was certain he wouldn’t be able to hold back another second, Peter arched his back and moaned. Roman felt Peter's cum fly from the tip of his cock, coating the sheets beneath them.

Peter fell forward, heaving and shaking. Roman went with him, groaning as Peter’s ass got tighter and his dick got bigger inside him. It only took a few more seconds before Roman’s came too, and he didn’t even bother pulling out. He just painted the inside of Peter’s ass with his cum, grunting and gripping Peter’s shoulders as he did.

Roman fell to the side of Peter, on his back, looking up at the ceiling but not quite seeing it. He was still replaying what had just happened over and over again, not believing and yet definitely feeling the after effects.

Peter flipped over on his back and they were lying shoulder to shoulder, both panting and staring at the ceiling as if the answers to all their problems were written up there.

Peter leaned over and grabbed something from the ground. When Roman heard the flick of the lighter, he looked over and watched as Peter took a puff from a crumpled cigarette. The smoke billowed up in wisps, dissipating before it hit the ceiling.

Peter passed the cigarette to Roman, who took a drag.

“Shee-it,” said Peter.

“Shee-it,” said Roman, exhaling.


End file.
